


Healing, Part Two

by lea_ysaye



Series: There's No Waking From The Horror [6]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rickyl, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: Rick and Daryl start on the long way together.





	1. Dreams

_He’s running. The fog is so thick, he can’t see where he’s going, or what’s in front of him. Sweat runs down his face, into his eyes. It stings, he tries to wipe away the tears, but they keep coming._

_Suddenly, the fog smells of smoke. He stops dead, panting, gagging on the stink of human flesh._

_Where is he? Where’s Daryl? He won’t find him, Negan’s taken him away._

_Negan…_

_Glenn. Abe. Two dead. Daryl. One missing. His family, destroyed. His fighters, scattered and cowed. His hunter… What will that monster do to him?_

_And everything is his fault. He overreached, and others paid the price. He sat by, motionless, as that hateful bat extinguished lives that were his to protect._

_Daryl, gone. His hunter, injured, traumatized and scared out of his wits. Will he get Daryl back? Does he deserve to even hope it?_

_“No…,” he whimpers. “Noooo.”_

 

“Rick… Rick!”

His eyes fly open, he scrambles to sitting, the blankets tangled around his legs. His heart is hammering like mad, and he stares around himself in the darkness, panting.

“Hey, man,” a low voice says close by. “It’s alright. Here, wait…”

The bedside lamp clicks on, and Rick looks up at Daryl who is standing next to the bed, frowning down at him. Daryl is wearing only boxer shorts and his boots. He follows Rick’s gaze. “My feet were cold,” he mumbles.

“Why’re you up, Daryl?” Rick asks, attempting to untangle his legs from the sheets. His t-shirt is sweatily sticking to him, and he shivers. Without comment, Daryl goes over to the closet and comes back with a fresh tee.

“Same as yerself,” he says, holding the shirt out to Rick.

Rick takes it, and finally manages to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He quickly changes into the fresh shirt, then rubs his face. His heart is beating more normally again, his breathing under control. Daryl brings him a glass of water, which Rick accepts gratefully. While he drinks, Daryl sits down on the bed by his side.

“Ya feeling better now?” he asks, sounding worried. Rick tries to smile as best as he can manage, and leans his shoulder against Daryl’s.

“Getting there,” he says quietly. The horrible fear from the nightmare, that conviction that Daryl is forever lost to him, still penetrates his consciousness.

And the guilt. Two of the best men he ever knew are dead, and Rick sat by and let it all happen. He shivers again, this time not from the chill.

“Hey, ‘s alright,” Daryl says and takes Rick’s hand in his. The hunter’s fingers feel icy and clammy. Rick looks up, alarmed.

“Daryl, you okay? Was it just nightmares?”

Daryl’s free hand comes to lie against his belly unconsciously. “And my damn gut. But it’s okay,” he adds quickly, heading Rick off. “Took a couple Benadryl, and it’s as good as gone. Didn’t have the runs or nothing.”

“There’s always the codeine, if it hurts too much,” Rick says. “I’m sure an extra one here and there won’t do any harm.”

Daryl shakes his head. “Seriously, it’s okay. I’d take it, if it were bad. But it’s not, promise.” He gives Rick a long look. “Yer nightmare, tho. Since when’s that’s been going on?” His fingers tighten on Rick’s, and Rick draws gentle circles on Daryl’s wrist with his thumb. That always calms his hunter.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’ll talk about it, soon.” He wishes Daryl will leave it be for now. “The doc will have some ideas, and tomorrow is our first session. It can wait a bit longer.”

But Daryl shakes his head stubbornly. “Tell me, Rick.”

Rick looks at Daryl, his heart full of sorrow and worry at the same time at the look of concern on Daryl’s face. He’s kept this to himself all this time for this reason exactly. Daryl has enough to deal with already. Maybe he can get away with just a little of the truth for now.

“It’s really not so bad,” he says with a little grimace. “Or it wasn’t. I never woke you, did I?”

Daryl glowers. “Ya should’ve.”

The disappointment in Daryl’s voice cuts deep. Rick sighs. “That’s why we’re here, to deal with it all. I promise I’ll tell the doc.” He considers for a moment. “I guess it’s getting worse cuz it’s almost time, you know? To tackle it all? I…” There’s a lump in Rick’s throat, all of a sudden. He swallows and tries again. “I guess I’m scared.”

There’s a long pause. “I’m scared too, Rick,” Daryl whispers eventually. A little louder he continues, “But that’s okay. I know that now.”

Rick waits for a few heartbeats, then reaches out and puts his hand on Daryl’s neck. His heart is thumping loudly in his ears. Daryl’s eyes flutter shut, and he sighs once, slumping a little. Rick caresses the nape of Daryl’s neck lightly with his thumb.

“Yeah, it’s okay to be scared,” Rick says quietly. “But I really hope we won’t be for much longer.”

Daryl opens his eyes. Some tears are beading his lashes, but he tries a smile. “Me too, Rick.” Then he takes the empty glass and Rick’s sweaty t-shirt and gets up. “C’mon, back to sleep. Lots to do tomorrow.”

Rick yawns widely. “True enough.” He slides back under the covers while Daryl puts the glass and shirt on the table in the corner. Then the hunter pops another Benadryl and chases it with some water.

“Just to be safe,” he says when he sees Rick looking. He steps out of his boots and lies down next to Rick. Rick turns toward his bedside table and turns the light off.

He can feel the mattress shift as Daryl makes himself comfortable. In the slim sliver of moonlight that falls through a gap in the curtains he can see that Daryl is lying on his side, facing him. They’re quiet for a few minutes.

“Promise yer’ll talk to me, when yer really ready.” Daryl’s voice sounds very small.

Rick feels for Daryl’s hand under the blankets. The hunter’s fingers are warmer again, and dry. “I promise, buddy.”


	2. Talking again

“Daryl, Rick, please, come in!” Joel gets up from behind his desk and meets them halfway across the room. As Rick shakes the outstretched hand he looks around. The room is bright and airy, and with its tidy bookcases and clean surfaces it could be in the world Before. He wipes the hand that’s not shaking Joel’s on his pants leg. He’s nervous, and his palms are sweaty.

Daryl shakes Joel’s hand next. “Hiya,” he says quietly.

Joel’s gaze on Daryl is gentle. “Hey, Daryl. How’re you feeling? Meds working yet?”

Daryl nods, chewing his lower lip, and glancing at Joel from under his lashes. “Yeah, thanks.” He manages a small smile.

There’s something calm about Joel that Rick immediately likes. And he’s gone some way to putting Daryl at ease, which is no small feat right now. The doctor’s light green eyes have an openness and friendliness that soothes Rick, too. He returns the doctor’s smile as Joel says, “It’s good to meet you, Rick.” He gestures at the two chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

They do so, and Joel returns to his chair behind the desk. “Have you been sleeping better?” he asks Daryl. The hunter glances at Rick.

“Last night wasn’t so great,” Rick answers for them both. He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in the creaking chair. “Nightmares.” So, this is it. They’ll have to start talking about everything now.

Daryl sits on the very edge of his chair, his knee jigging nervously. Rick wants to reach out and soothe him. He misses that so much, just holding Daryl, with both of them at peace. Daryl glances at him, but quickly looks away, twisting his hands in his lap.

The hunter had barely touched his porridge that morning, and had not said five words since they’d gotten up. Rick had left most of his own breakfast, too. Now he’s feeling guilty about the waste, on top of everything else.

“I know this must be strange,” Joel says. That’s an understatement, but Rick nods.

“Just a bit,” he says with a half-grin.

“Like, who has time for head shrinking when the world is ending, right?” Joel asks. Both Rick and Daryl nod. Joel continues, his voice suddenly urgent; he almost stumbles over the words. “The thing is, if we don’t treat the minds of those who need it now, then how can humanity survive? We all have suffered, we all have seen unspeakable things. If we don’t act now, savagery in a few generations is guaranteed.”

Daryl looks alarmed. He leans back in his chair, putting distance between himself and the doctor. Joel notices, and sits back himself, his arms resting loosely by his sides. Rick is impressed with the doc’s perceptiveness.

“There I go up onto my soap box.” Joel gives a wry smile. “I’m sorry. What I meant to say is, we’ve got the tools to help you guys. Why not use them, right?”

Daryl nods slowly, relaxing a little. Joel looks at Rick. “I’ve already apologized to Daryl for talking to Eric and Jesus about you guys and your problems. I want to apologize to you, too.”

Rick waves this away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Daryl said the same thing.” Joel smiles. Rick gives Daryl a quick glance, and knows what his man is thinking. Their family just wants to help.

“A couple of things need to be expanded on, though,” Joel says, and Rick returns his attention to the doctor. “Eric told me you guys are together.”

Rick smiles. “Hardly a secret. At home, we share a room with just one bed, too.”

“I will hazard a guess,” Joel continues, “That you two haven’t considered that part of our work here will look a lot like couples’ therapy? And that means that I’ll be asking a few pretty intimate questions.”

After a small pause Daryl is the one who speaks. “’s like Rick says.” His voice is shaking slightly, but he soldiers on. “Me ‘n him, we got nothin’ ta hide.”

Rick feels his love for Daryl swell in his chest. The hunter is being incredibly brave. He wants to fix this, wants for them to be as they were before. He’s willing to fight a fight that terrifies him, for his own recovery, and for the two of them.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” Joel smiles. “We’ll have joint sessions, and then I’ll also schedule individual ones with each of you, okay?”

Both Rick and Daryl nod.

“Here’s the hard bit, though,” Joel says. “I can almost guarantee that we’ll touch on things that you won’t want to say in front of each other, or do with the other one in the room. I know,” he heads Daryl off, who is about to protest. “You think there won’t be anything like that, Daryl. No secrets, right?” Daryl nods, and Joel’s smile is a little wistful now. “In my experience, every couple hits that snag at least once. Some things are hard enough to acknowledge to yourself, especially if you’ve been burying them for a long time. If it doesn’t happen, great. All I’m asking is this: At any point, if either of you would rather not discuss something painful, or do a difficult exercise in front of the other, say so. Deal?”

Daryl stares at his hands and doesn’t speak. Rick aches to tell him that he’d never consider it a betrayal if Daryl would rather not discuss something in front of him, but he knows Daryl needs to get there himself. Joel leans forward. “Daryl, not being able to say everything to Rick all the time doesn’t mean you don’t love him. And it doesn’t mean that he’ll be upset.”

Rick keeps his eyes on Daryl, and finally, the hunter looks up. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but he nods at Rick. Turning to Joel again he says, “Alright.”

Rick reaches out and briefly squeezes Daryl’s knee. Daryl’s smile in return is a little tremulous, but it’s there.

“Deal,” Rick says, hoping it’ll be that easy.

They turn next to the schedule. Joel lists the session ideas he’s already considered. A lot of the terms he uses don’t mean very much to Rick. Joel notices. “Don’t worry about it for now,” he tells Rick. “It sounds overwhelming, but I promise we’ll break it all down. Rick, a lot of what I want to do with you is talking therapy. For Daryl, it’s more hands-on, practical stuff.”

Daryl shifts again in his seat, and Joel frowns. “Is that not okay, Daryl? I just think, for you, actually confronting some of the things that happened to you would be more effective than just talking about them.”

“’s fine,” Daryl says, playing nervously with a thread on his shirt end. “Only… I wanna learn to talk about stuff, too.”

“Of course, Daryl. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear,” Joel says. “We’ll definitely do some talking therapy as well. And some experience-based things with Rick.”

Daryl nods, still looking down. Joel asks gently, “Is there something in particular you want to learn to talk about?”

There’s an awful lot Daryl would like to be able to say, Rick can see it in his expression. But eventually Daryl looks up at Joel.

“When I feel real bad, with the nightmares, and…and the memories…and when my belly’s so bad…I just wanna get away. Be alone. There’s nothing else that helps, I feel so trapped.” The words tumble out in a rush that’s quite unlike Daryl. “But I hate that I can’t tell Rick that I gotta get away. He worries, when he doesn’t know where I am, and how long for… I hate that.” Daryl breaks off and he glances at Rick anxiously, his gaze asking a forgiveness from him that Rick had no idea his hunter needed.

He wants so badly to pull Daryl close, to hold him and tell him that it’s okay, that he has nothing to be sorry for. But before he can screw up the courage to even reach out, Joel is speaking again.

“That’s a great first exercise, Daryl.” And when Daryl looks confused he adds, “From now on, when you need some alone time, when you’re anxious – and it will happen, some of the sessions will be frightening, and difficult – and you want to go and be by yourself for a bit, tell Rick.” He waits for Daryl to nod, then turns to Rick. “And Rick, you can help, too: I bet you can usually tell when Daryl’s fixing to run?”

Rick nods; the memory of those moments make him feel awful.

“I’m sure you’d always let him go anyway,” Joel continues. “But don’t let Daryl leave until he’s said out loud where he’s going, and for how long. It’s safer, too, and you’ll both be calmer, knowing where the other one is. How does that sound?”

Daryl looks at Rick. “Can do that, right?”

Rick nods. “Definitely.”

After agreeing on a solo session for Rick the next day, and a joint session the day after, Joel pulls out a small pill bottle from a drawer in his desk. “One last thing before you go. Daryl, I want you to start taking these today. Then we can see how they agree with you at our next session. This medication is called an SSRI. And,” Joel smiles. “I have some hope it might have an additional benefit, too. Before everything went to shit, doctors sometimes prescribed them to people with IBS.”

“Ya mean, I’m just imagining my gut being fucked up?” Daryl interrupts, his old suspicion back again.

“Of course not, Daryl. It wasn’t very well understood, but for some people with IBS and similar conditions, the SSRIs significantly reduced the pain. And,” he adds, pushing the pill bottle across the table, “They help with anxiety and depression, that’s why I want you to take them. If they’ve got good side effects, we won’t complain, right?”

Daryl nods, looking satisfied with that explanation. He and Rick leave the doctor’s office together, Daryl slipping the new pills in his pants pocket. They don’t speak as they walk down the stairs to the first floor, but outside the hospital doors Daryl stops.

“Rick,” he says quietly. He’s not fidgeting, and he maintains eye contact, but it still takes him a few moments before he can continue. Rick waits patiently. Finally, Daryl takes a deep breath. “I…I wanna be on my own for a bit. ‘m not scared or stressed or nothing, there’s just…” He gestures at the hospital building, lost for words.

“A lot to think about?” Rick suggests.

“Yeah, that.” Daryl gives him a smile. “I..I’ll go visit Shiva, for, like half an hour? Meet ya after? Mess hall, for lunch?”

“Sounds perfect.” Rick feels his own relief, and Daryl’s, in his bones. “I’ll go find Morgan, see if any messages have come.” He steps close to Daryl and puts his hand on the hunter’s neck again. Daryl hums quietly, and closes his eyes. Rick smiles to himself as Daryl leans against him for a moment. “See you later, buddy,” he says, and releases Daryl.

The hunter gives a sketchy little wave, then saunters down the stairs. Rick stands still as he watches him go.

The late fall sun on his skin is warm. His heart is light.

They can really do this.


	3. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to say, the depiction of the therapy session isn't scientifically sound. I took artistic license here, I wanted Rick to talk.

Sitting alone in front of Joel’s desk is slightly unnerving. Rick crosses his legs, first that way then the other. He shifts a little, and Joel looks up from his file. He smiles.

“I know this feels weird, Rick. I’ll be really gentle. Tell me if I go too fast.” He points at the file in front of him. “Okay if I take notes?”

“Sure,” Rick says. He’s still not entirely sold on this. It feels like an indulgence, to sit here and engage in this navel-gazing exercise while his family and friends work every second of every day to keep everyone alive. _You’re doing this for Daryl,_ Rick reminds himself. _Don’t mess it up._

Joel ends Rick’s self-doubting internal monologue. “How’re you doing today? More bad dreams last night?”

“None,” Rick says. “We both slept through, actually. First time in, I don’t know how long. Daryl’s belly is definitely getting better. He was pretty cheerful this morning, and he looked really well and rested. He’s gone with Morgan to do some guard duty on the perimeter.” Rick hadn’t been enamored with the idea, but hadn’t said anything. “He likes to pay his way.”

“That’s really good,” Joel says. “And I know Daryl is your priority.” He lets a few moments pass. “But, Rick, right now I want to know how _you_ are.”

Rick’s eyes narrow, and Joel raises his hands as if to surrender. “Guilty, I’m afraid. Yes, I’ll make you talk about yourself.”

That makes Rick grin against his will. He rubs his face. “Fair enough, I suppose.” Daryl wants him to talk about what’s going on, too. Rick wonders when exactly he’s fallen out of the habit. He used to spill his guts every opportunity he got. Now, the thought to dig into that mountain of coalescing emotions inside him makes him panic.

“Why did you come here, Rick?” Joel asks gently. It’s not a provocation.

“For Daryl,” Rick says quietly. “So he gets well again.”

“And do _you_ want to get well, too?” Joel’s voice is still gentle, and Rick knows the doctor means to help. He nods.

“For Daryl.” Joel’s words aren’t a question.

“Yeah,” Rick says, staring at his folded hands in his lap. “And for our family.” When he looks up again Joel is fixing him with such an intense look it makes Rick squirm.

“You know what I’m gonna say, Rick,” the doctor says. “Don’t you deserve being well just for yourself?”

Rick wants to scoff at that. Maybe, if the world hadn’t gone to shit, he could be so self-indulgent. But people depend on him. He needs to function so they have a chance of survival. Daryl needs him to be strong, needs his support. And he needs Daryl, oh, how much he needs him…

But Joel wouldn’t like any of that. “Course I deserve it,” he says, voice rough.

Joel doesn’t look convinced. Rick tries to hold his gaze. His head is starting to hurt. Finally, the doctor gives a sigh. “We’ll get there, I’m sure.” He makes a small note on his file, then looks up again. “I can’t promise that what we’ll do won’t hurt. It’ll be scary, and it’ll take a lot out of you, Rick. And,” he adds with another sigh. “We’re on the clock. Let’s see how far we can get in two weeks, alright? That’s the minimum I’m recommending. For you, but also for Daryl. His body will need the rest, in any case, and that’s how long he can take the steroids.”

Rick nods. “Two weeks,” he agrees.

“Here is my plan in a nutshell,” Joel says. “We’ll work on ways to deal with the trauma you have experienced. There are techniques you can use, and I’ll teach them to you both. And in our solo sessions, Rick, we’ll talk. I think, from what the others have said and from talking to you, that this will be the cornerstone to your healing. You need to mull it all over, out loud. Well,” he amends, rubbing his face. “When I say ‘all’ what I mean is that we’ll talk about the things that have affected you the most. We don’t have time to work through the last two years, not in a couple of weeks.”

“No,” Rick agrees. “We definitely don’t.”

“We’ll concentrate on what’s happened since you ran into Negan, and on Daryl being his prisoner. And,” Joel says with emphasis, “I don’t disagree with you. Your own recovery is inextricably linked with Daryl’s, and we will address what his trauma has done to you.”

“Alright,” Rick says. Whatever the doc says will help him help Daryl is okay with Rick.

“Let’s start with today,” Joel continues. “What do you want to get out of today?”

Rick is thrown for a moment. What does he know about therapy? Shouldn’t the doctor set the goals? But there’s a certain logic here. They don’t have a lot of time, it makes sense to tackle the things that are most crucial to Rick.

So he tries to come up with a manageable goal for the day. Finally he says, “I want to start talking about the things that scare me. And I want to tell Daryl I’m talking about them. He’s really stressed about how I’m bottling everything up.”

“Sounds good,” Joel says. “Let’s see how far we can get.” He pauses, then asks, “What is it that scares you, Rick? What are your nightmares about?”

“That Daryl…,” Rick starts, but then everything goes wrong.

The air in his lungs is suddenly like glue. He can barely think clearly enough to remember to exhale, inhale, exhale again. Joel looks alarmed and is half out of his seat, but Rick manages to shake his head, gripping the armrests of his chair hard.

There are stars before his eyes, but Rick refuses to yield to the darkness that wants to engulf him. He can do this, he must. If he goes to pieces before this has even started then what hope is there?

He forces in another lungful of air, and slowly, things start to right themselves. “That…,” he croaks, breathing slowly. “That Daryl is lost to me forever.” Joel pours him a glass of water, and Rick waits for his heartrate to slow down. He seizes the glass and gulps some water. “Wow,” he manages. “Scary.”

Joel motions to Rick to drink more water. “Take it real slow. This isn’t as unusual as you’d think. Maybe you’ve had enough for one day.”

Rick shakes his head. “No. I’ve started now, it’ll be easier. And…and I really need this.”

“Okay,” Joel says. “But take your time.”

“Everything scares me, I suppose,” Rick says slowly. “That something happens to my kids, that my family is attacked again, that more people die. But losing Daryl…” He grips the armrests hard again. “The thought alone makes me lose my mind.” He laughs humorlessly. “As you just saw.”

“What was it like,” Joel asks. “When Daryl was taken? And when he came back, what’s it been like since?”

“It was almost easier while he was gone,” Rick says tonelessly, hating himself. “We were flat out, every day. I had no time to think of anything, except bringing Daryl back, and killing Negan. I was angry, and full of rage. And that was okay. I felt awful, but it was allowed, y’know?” He hides his face behind both hands. “That sounds crazy…”

“No, Rick,” Joel says gently. “Not crazy at all.”

Rick wants to get through this, now that he’s started it. “When Daryl came back…” He shakes his head, feeling sick with the helplessness that’s filled him since. “He was hurting so much. I…I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. He couldn’t endure being around anyone. He hid it all away. He…he’s so broken, and scared, and sick…”

He has to take a moment to breathe. A cottony feeling is pervading his head. Joel tops up his glass. “Drink.”

Rick does, then goes on. “I couldn’t touch him. He tried, so hard. But he just kept getting sicker, with his gut, and that really knocked him sideways. And he never speaks. He asked me not to make him talk about it. There was nowhere to turn, nothing I could do…”

“And now, Rick?” Joel’s voice is very quiet. “How do you feel now?”

Rick thinks for a moment. The despair that’s coursing through his mind when he remembers the last few months is still strong, but a new feeling is peeking out of the burned ash. He looks at the doctor.

“I feel like there’s hope again.”

*

After the therapy, Rick goes looking for Daryl. It’s another beautiful day, and he reasons that his hunter won’t stay cooped up if he doesn’t have to. He finds Morgan coming out of Ezekiel’s house.

“Hey, Morgan,” he calls, and the man stops and turns.

“Rick.”

“Daryl come back with you?” Rick asks.

Morgan nods. “He went to your room.”

A bad feeling starts in Rick’s stomach. Why would Daryl be inside on a day like this? “Did he seem okay?”

Morgan nods again. “Just a bit tired. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s napping.”

Rick wants to ask more questions, but feels guilty discussing Daryl like this. “I’ll go see if he wants to have lunch,” he says instead. “Thanks, Morgan.”

As he retraces his steps toward the hospital Rick tries not to run. Most likely Daryl is fine. He’s had naps every day since they got here, and Rick has encouraged it. The added rest has been doing him good.

With a gentle knock Rick sticks his head around the door to their room. He breathes a sigh of relief. Daryl is lying on the bed, on top of the covers, wearing only boxer shorts. His smile is a little sleepy, but he looks relaxed. There’s no trace of pain or discomfort on his face.

“Hey, Rick.”

“Hey, buddy. You okay?” Rick steps into the room and closes the door.

“Yeah, ‘m real good.” Daryl is still looking at him, his eyes gleaming. Rick feels a heat build behind his navel that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Why’re you in here?” he asks. “I was worried you were feeling sick again… you’re not, are you?”

“Nah,” Daryl says. “’m a bit tired, but…” He breaks off, looking sheepish.

“What, buddy?” Rick goes over to the bed and perches by Daryl’s side. “You can tell me.”

Daryl grins, then blushes scarlet. “Felt like jacking a bit.”

Rick grins too. “And did you?”

“Not yet…,” Daryl says, still red. “Was gonna wait for ya.”

There’s something in Daryl’s eyes that makes Rick feel weak and strange inside. He was going to tell Daryl about his session, about his panic attack, and how, despite the horror of it all, he finally feels ready to start healing. But now is not the time for talking.

Daryl looks both sexy and vulnerable, the way he’s lying there in just his boxers. He’s too thin, still too pale, but the broad shoulders, the smooth, freckled skin of his chest, and the hair that becomes almost ginger where it disappears into the waistband of Daryl’s underpants makes Rick’s dick grow hard.

He lifts his hand instinctively, but then remembers. “Can…can I touch you?”

Daryl nods, and Rick strokes his chest gently, traces the warm skin to the collarbone, then lets his fingers glide down until they come to rest lightly on the front of Daryl’s boxer shorts. Daryl hums, then his hand joins Rick’s. He rubs his dick through the fabric, and the outline of his erection grows more prominent.

Then Daryl’s fingers slide past the waistband and he takes hold of his dick.

As Daryl starts stroking himself Rick gets up. He undoes his belt, steps out of his shoes and takes off his pants and t-shirt. He goes around the bed and stretches out by Daryl’s side.

Daryl glances at him, and slowly wriggles the boxer shorts over his hips, exposing pale thighs and hip bones that are more prominent than Rick remembers. His erection lies dark and heavy against the soft hairs of his treasure trail.

He reaches out and brings Rick’s hand to lie on his dick. Rick strokes the warm, silken length against Daryl’s belly, feeling a lump form in his throat. How he’s missed touching Daryl in this way!

Daryl hums again and scoots closer, resting his head against Rick’s shoulder. When he reaches for Rick’s boxer shorts, Rick stops his hand. “Not today, buddy. Let me concentrate on you.”

“Rick,” Daryl whispers. His breath is hot against Rick’s naked chest, and he gasps as Rick’s hand picks up speed. The first few drops of pre-cum are sticky on Rick’s fingers.

Daryl’s hand finds purchase on his balls. He tugs, none too gently, then moans. “Oh, god…”

Rick feels the hunter shiver and tense against him, and he tightens his fingers, picks up speed on his shaft once again. With a whimper Daryl comes, spurting onto his belly and over Rick’s hand.

Daryl’s face is buried in the crook of Rick’s neck; he’s breathing hard. After a minute of riding the wave he rolls over onto his side, shivering deliciously. His arm drapes loosely over Rick’s middle.

“You okay, buddy?” Rick enquires quietly.

“’m great,” Daryl murmurs, sounding close to sleep. “What ‘bout yerself, tho?”

Rick glances behind him, then twists around until he can fish a few tissues from a box on the bedside table. “I’m good for now, buddy.” He kisses Daryl’s hair, feeling self-conscious at the tender gesture. Daryl hums again, and his arm around Rick tightens. Rick does his best to wipe the spunk off his fingers and Daryl’s belly. “How about a nap, huh?”

“Yeah, alright.” Daryl sounds like he’s not satisfied with Rick’s refusal of a hand job.

“Don’t you think this was a free favor, dude,” Rick teases. “You owe me one.”

That makes Daryl laugh. “Fair enough.” He yawns widely, and settles more comfortably against Rick. Within the minute he’s asleep.

Rick drops the sticky tissues over the side of the bed. _Paper tissues,_ he thinks idly. _What a luxury._ He rests his head against Daryl’s and closes his eyes.

His groin is very hot, and his erection lies heavy against his leg. The smell of Daryl – his cum, his slightly sweaty, musky hair – is doing nothing to lessen Rick’s arousal. He rubs himself through the fabric of his boxers. What a strange day.

 _Maybe,_ Rick thinks, _all we needed was the magic of the Kingdom to finally start healing._


	4. Practice

When Daryl wakes up it’s pitch black, and very quiet. No light is sneaking through the gaps in the curtains tonight. New moon. Daryl still takes note of these things.

At first, he can’t figure out what woke him. He lies still, probing his body, his mind. His gut seems perfectly fine, there’s no hollow pain, no cramps, no feeling that he’ll make a mess any second if he doesn’t get his ass on a toilet this very instant.

And there’s no sense of horror, no sweaty, tangled sheets, no rapid heartbeat. So it’s not nightmares, either.

Rick lies next to him, deeply asleep. As Daryl listens closely he can hear his lover’s quiet, deep breaths. No nightmares there, either.

The only thing that seems off is that Daryl feels incredibly thirsty. He’d noticed it during the day already, that he’d had to take sips from his water flask more frequently than usual while on patrol with Morgan.

He slips out from under the sheets carefully, not wanting to wake Rick. They’re both finally getting a proper night’s rest again, and there’s no reason to disturb and worry Rick just cuz he’s thirsty. Daryl can orient himself just fine in the dark. He visualizes where the water jug is on the table, and pours himself a glass slowly, making barely any noise.

He has just drunk it down and is pouring a second glass when he hears a snuffling sound from the bed, and sheets rustling. Rick sighs, and Daryl curses himself.

“Daryl?”

Dammit! “I’m here, man. Just drinking some water.”

He quickly downs the second glass, feeling the liquid slosh in his stomach. Then he pads back to the bed. Rick reaches for him as he lies back down.

“What’s up, buddy?” Rick’s voice is full of concern, and Daryl hates himself for worrying his lover. He pulls Rick’s hand against his chest and holds it there as he settles back down.

“Nuthin’, I swear. Just thirsty.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You’d tell me if it was something else, right?” The concern in Rick’s voice is so urgent, it goes through Daryl like a lightning bolt of shame.

“I would, Rick. Seriously. Go back to sleep, man.” Daryl tightens his grip on Rick’s fingers. “I’m real sorry I woke ya up.”

“’s okay,” Rick says sleepily.

“’s not,” Daryl insists. “Ya need yer sleep, I’ve kept ya up enough them last few months.”

Rick ignores this. “You nervous about tomorrow? Those techniques he wants to teach us?”

Daryl considers for a moment. “A bit, I guess. Yer nervous, Rick?”

“Yeah,” Rick says quietly. “The session today wasn’t exactly fun.” There’s a pause. Daryl waits. He was a bit upset that Rick didn’t volunteer anything about his first therapy session with Joel. When Daryl is half convinced Rick has fallen asleep again he suddenly says, “Was gonna tell you about it, but then we…”

“Did the other thing.” Daryl grins at the memory. That was real nice, Rick jacking him off. He just wishes Rick would’ve let him do it back. But he doesn’t dare reach for Rick now. Somehow, the mood feels wrong. Instead he says, “Ya can tell me now, if ya want. ‘m not tired.”

“No,” Rick says quickly, and a little too loudly. “ _I_ am tired. It’s late, and we’ll need to be rested for tomorrow. I think we’ll need all our strength for this therapy stuff.”

“Alright,” Daryl says reluctantly. Rick is making excuses. He feels suddenly hopeless again. It’s his fault that Rick has shut off like this.

Rick picks up on Daryl’s mood, like he always does. He gently untangles their fingers, then slides his hand up and onto Daryl’s neck. He pulls gently, until Daryl rolls onto his side. In the dark, Rick brings their foreheads together with a sigh. “I promise, we’ll talk real soon, buddy. I love you.”

Daryl fights back the tears and swallows. His mouth is dry again. “Alright,” he whispers.

Rick finds Daryl’s hand again and intertwines their fingers, and that’s how they fall asleep.

*

“Hey, guys,” Joel greets them as they step into his office the next morning. “Come on in, have a seat!”

The doctor’s office is familiar now, and Daryl feels at ease here most of the time. He trusts Joel, and while what they’re doing isn’t ever fun, he’s feeling so much better since they got to the Kingdom. But he’s nervous about today. What will Joel make them do? And can he bear to live through all those horrors again?

A hand alights on his thigh as soon as they’re sitting down. Daryl looks up into Rick’s gentle, loving gaze, and he can’t help but smile. His mood lifts. They’ll be okay. They’ve got each other, and they can do this.

“How’re you guys doing today?” Joel wants to know.

Daryl is about to say _fine_ , but Rick is quicker. “Daryl woke up really thirsty last night.” Daryl glowers, but Rick ignores him. “Could that be the new meds?”

“Quite possible,” Joel says, looking stricken.  “Daryl, I’m so sorry. I should’ve explained about possible side effects; it completely slipped my mind. Have you noticed anything else? Drowsiness?”

“Maybe a bit,” Daryl admits.

“Anything else? Nausea, constipation, insomnia, vertigo, erectile problems?” Joel ticks them off one by one.

Daryl shakes his head to everything, and blushes on the last. He glances at Rick, who gives him a grin and a wink.

If Joel notices, he doesn’t let on. Satisfied that Daryl is doing mostly okay, he says, “Alright, if there’s nothing else, here is our plan for today.” He gives them a moment to raise other issues, and when they don’t he carries on, “Today, I’ll teach you some techniques for dealing with the stress and anxiety arising from PTSD. Rick, if you ever have another panic attack like yesterday, these will really help.”

Daryl looks around sharply. “Ya didn’t tell me,” he says, hurt.

Rick’s eyes are pleading. There’s a sinking sensation in Daryl’s stomach at the discomfort on his lover’s face. “I’m sorry, buddy. I really wanted to. Then the other…thing happened, and I chickened out.” He reaches out and grabs Daryl’s knee again. “I won’t let it happen again, I promise.”

“’s alright,” Daryl says quietly. He hates how miserable they both are. Why can’t it just stop?

Joel looks from one to the other, but he doesn’t comment. Daryl is grateful. Being overanalyzed by a shrink won’t help. Joel’s not like that, thank god. The doc continues with his explanation. “At the end of the session today, I’ll do an exercise with Daryl, and based on that, I’ll plan your next steps.”

“Okay,” Daryl nods.

Joel gets up, and motions to them to do the same. “The preparation for these exercises might seem a little odd. Once you’re used to doing them, you can be upright in a chair, too. But for now, please lie down on your backs on the floor.”

Rick considers Joel, then grins at Daryl. “Guess we’ve done much worse.”

“Take off your shoes, please,” Joel says.

Daryl gives the doctor a suspicious look. What is this nonsense? But Rick is already stepping out of his boots, so Daryl sits down again and unlaces his heavy boots with a huff.

It feels very strange, lying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling. There’s a frieze all around the edge of the room, and the lamp looks old and expensive. For the first time, Daryl wonders what this place used to be before all this.

“Right, you both comfortable?” Joel says, bringing Daryl’s attention back. “I’ll teach you a technique called ‘calm breathing’ now.”

Daryl glances up at Joel, who is standing by their side. He’s not sure what to make of the idea of being taught how to breathe, but he doesn’t say anything. The doctor has come through on his promises so far, so Daryl will just go with it. Rick is lying close by his side, their shoulders are almost touching. _This is why we’re doing this,_ he reminds himself. _To get better, together._

“Put one hand on your chest, over your heart,” Joel says, “and the other one on your belly.”

Daryl does so, and out of the corner of his eye sees Rick moving his hands in place, too.

“The trick is,” Joel continues, “to breathe into your belly. When we do the exercise, the hand on your chest shouldn’t move. Try to get all the air into your diaphragm.”

Did people really spend time learning this stuff in the world before? Daryl shifts uncomfortably. The carpet isn’t as thick as it looked from standing on it. Something suddenly brushes his hip. He startles slightly and looks down. Rick’s hand, twisting awkwardly, is giving his thigh a quick squeeze. Daryl finds Rick’s eyes and smiles gratefully.

“Take a slow breath in through your nose.” Joel’s voice is calm and low. “This should take about four seconds. Then hold the breath for two seconds. Then exhale for four. Wait a few seconds before the next breath.” Joel smiles down at Daryl. “Feeling okay?”

Daryl shrugs. He’s trying to concentrate on his chest not moving. It’s surprisingly hard.

“Keep going for a few more,” Joel says, stepping over to the window and out of Daryl’s line of sight. “And remember, always wait a few seconds between breaths. When you panic, your instincts will make you hyperventilate. The extra oxygen will make you feel dizzy, and might make your arms and legs tingle. That in turn makes the anxiety worse.”

They breathe for another minute or two. It’s actually quite pleasant. Daryl is starting to feel drowsy. Those meds Joel gave him for the anxiety are really starting to mess him about.

“Once you get the hang of it,” Joel says after a while, “you can do this in any position. Sitting down, standing up. It takes practice to do it when you’re actually panicking, but it becomes second nature quickly.” He steps closer again so they can see him. “While I’ve got you down there, I want to do one other exercise. This one is called ‘progressive muscle relaxation’. You can do it sitting up, too, which is better during the day. When you do it lying down the danger is that you fall asleep.” He grins. “If you fall asleep now, I’ll wake you, don’t worry.”

He disappears from their line of sight and returns to his seat behind his desk. “Close your eyes now.”

Before Daryl does as told he glances at Rick. _You okay?_ Rick mouthes. Daryl nods, grimacing. _Hang in there,_ Rick adds, and touches the back of Daryl’s hand with his pinkie. Daryl tries a smile, then closes his eyes.

“Concentrate on my voice,” Joel says calmly. “Make a fist with your left hand, as hard as you can. Feel the tension in your fingers, your arm. Hold it for five seconds, then release all the tension at once. Do it as quickly as you can, and concentrate on the feeling of all that tightness flowing from your muscles. Now, tense your upper left arm, but don’t let it lift off the floor.”

It’s a strange sensation, alright. But as Daryl focuses on Joel’s voice, tensing one muscle at a time, he’s feeling oddly peaceful. They move through all the body parts that can be tensed – shoulders, chest, stomach, butt, legs and feet – and when Daryl opens his eyes again, blinking at the brightness of the room, he realizes he’s actually feeling really good.

Joel asks them to get up again. Daryl clambers to his feet, finding his limbs oddly heavy. He’s not feeling bad, exactly, but there’s a floaty, remote sensation in his head. As he straightens up the room suddenly seems to lurch slightly and he staggers. Rick grabs him by the upper arm. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

“Bit dizzy,” Daryl mumbles. Rick frowns and guides him back into his seat.

Joel pours them both a glass of water. “Probably another side effect from the SSRIs,” he says. “They should fade after a few days. If they don’t, tell me, okay? We can try a different treatment then, or I’ll give you something for vertigo.”

Daryl nods and drinks some water. He’s feeling fine again. “It’s alright now, actually.” He smiles at Rick, who looks at him with a frown. “Really, I’m fine.” He gives Rick another smile, and finally, Rick seems to accept Daryl’s reassurance. Daryl has the sudden urge to curl up and go to sleep with his lover, just the way they did the day before. They pull their boots back on, and turn their attention back to Joel.

“How was that?” Joel asks. “Apart from the vertigo, I mean?”

“Relaxing,” Daryl says at once.

“Pretty nice, actually,” Rick adds.

“Good!” Joel nods. “Practice both the breathing and the muscle relaxation as often as you can. Do it before you got to sleep, together. That way, you can remind each other not to forget.” Then he turns to Daryl. “The last thing I want to do for this session is an exercise for you. It’ll help me plan the next steps. It’s not as relaxing as what we’ve just done, but if it gets too upsetting we can use the breathing exercise again.”

Daryl nods his understanding. Joel adds, “Are you okay for Rick to stay?”

“Yeah, course,” Daryl says quickly. He still doesn’t believe that he’d ever not want Rick around for any of this.

Joel nods, looking a little uncertain. “Okay, then. Daryl, lean back and close your eyes.” Daryl does so, and Joel’s soft voice flows through him like a dream. His mind is still a little foggy. “Feel those relaxed muscles,” Joel murmurs. “You’re safe here, Daryl. Nothing bad can happen. I want you to go deep inside, and stay very still. Listen to the silence.” He pauses, and Daryl tries to do as he’s been told. “You’re safe, Daryl,” Joel repeats. “But you haven’t always been safe. Tell me about a time and place when you weren’t safe. When you were scared, or sad.”

Daryl’s fists clench in his lap. He can feel Rick shifting nearby. A dozen situations spring to his mind. The burning of the farm. Woodbury, in the fighting arena. The fall of the prison. Joe and his men. The feral dogs. Alexandria under siege.

“Rail tracks,” he whispers, to his own surprise. “They’re shooting at us. Denise got shot through the eye, with my crossbow.”

“Okay, that’s…,” Joel starts, but Daryl interrupts him.

“And…and…,” he croaks, tasting bile at the back of his throat. Then Rick’s hand is there and squeezes his, hard. Daryl’s eyes fly open, his heart is racing.

“Cell,” he finally manages. “Negan’s cell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The techniques in this chapter are real, and not difficult to learn. Still, I'm not a therapist, and if you want to try them better have a read of this: https://www.anxietybc.com/sites/default/files/adult_hmptsd.pdf


	5. The End?

The day is bad after that. Daryl can’t settle to anything, and he can’t shake the sense of dread. Over lunch, where he barely manages to swallow a bite, he’s short with Rick and surly with everyone else. Afterwards, he hides out again in Shiva’s basement. He keeps his promise and tells Rick where he’s going, but he doesn’t suggest to his lover to come along. For the first time in days his stomach hurts, and he leans against the big cat’s cage, his legs drawn up, willing his inside to stop churning.

He sneaks to their room long before it’s time for bed. He undresses and curls up under the blankets, and when Rick finally comes to bed he tells him he wants to do the next session with Joel on his own.

The truth is, he doesn’t want any more sessions at all, but he can’t do that to Rick. His lover would be heartbroken if he gives up.

Rick lies down next to him, but doesn’t reach out. “Okay, buddy,” he finally sighs, then turns onto his side, away from Daryl.

Daryl lies awake for ages. He tries to lie still, but his heart is racing. On a night like this, he’d usually disappear out into the woods, work off the anxiety. But he can’t risk frightening Rick today, not the way they’re already on edge. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s scared to be out on his own. The darkness, and strange woods, have never before bothered him, but the way he’s feeling, everything seems a threat.

And he can’t stop the remembering. Images flash before his eyes, smells and sounds make him startle and shiver. Soon, Rick is awake again. He still doesn’t say anything, but when Daryl once again jerks from a doze, the terror vivid in his mind, Rick reaches out and places a hand on Daryl’s hip.

“My poor buddy,” he whispers.

“I can’t, Rick…,” Daryl whimpers. “I can’t…”

There’s a pause. Rick gropes for Daryl’s hand, and draws circles on his wrist. “I know,” he says quietly.

Then the tears come, and Daryl cries noiselessly, until, finally, exhaustion takes over and he falls asleep.

The next day is bright and sunny again, but there’s a chill in the air. Daryl and Joel set off early, and they meet barely a soul on their way out of the Kingdom.

Daryl blinks into the brightness, his throat tight, his stomach still churning. He left without really speaking to Rick, and skipped breakfast. As he glances up and down the quiet rail tracks his heart starts to race.

“Daryl?” Joel sounds worried. “You think you can do this?”

Daryl swallows. He shrugs, but then nods. “Yeah,” is all he manages.

“Okay,” Joel says, but is looking unconvinced. “Remember, we’ll go slow. And if it gets too much, just open your eyes again, stop everything, and breathe.”

“Alright,” Daryl croaks.

They walk along the tracks for twenty yards or so. Then Joel stops. “This’ll do.” He faces Daryl, standing very close. “Close your eyes, Daryl. And then tell me, what happened on the tracks.”

The taste of bile is at the back of Daryl’s throat again. He shudders. Joel steps closer still, but doesn’t touch. Daryl closes his eyes.

“Denise is talkin’… screamin’ at us. We…she nearly got bit. We’re walkin’, she’s real angry. Ranting ‘bout life and…and then there’s an arrow…my arrow…stickin’ out of her eye…”

Daryl is starting to shiver. He wraps his arms around himself, hunches over. His stomach hurts so bad. “Bullets, they…they’re shooting…”

Suddenly he can’t breathe. His eyes fly open in panic, but he can barely see. Everything is blurry. His throat is closing up, and he gasps. Then his knees give way. Joel grabs him around the middle, and lowers them both carefully to the ground. “Daryl, breathe, c’mon! Listen to my voice. In, one…two…three…four… Hold for one…two… Now out, one…two…three…four…”

Daryl sits, sunken in on himself, clinging to Joel’s voice like a lifeline. He breathes. In. Out. After a while, his heart is slowing down, the panic drains away. He feels utterly exhausted.

“Enough for today, huh?” Joel says gently. Daryl gives a jerky nod, then wipes his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve. He’s shivering.

“Can you get up?” Joel asks. “We gotta get indoors or you’ll catch cold.”

Daryl lets the doc help him to his feet, but then turns away. “’m okay,” he mutters. His teeth are chattering.

They slowly pick their way back over the tracks, Daryl stumbling along. His gut is twisting with equal parts horror and guilt. Why can’t he do this? Why can’t he face his fears? He’s a failure. Here he is, wasting their time, getting all the help he could possibly need, yet he still fucks it up.

Joel leaves him be until they’re back inside the Kingdom’s walls. Then he stops Daryl with a hand on his arm. “Listen…”

But Daryl stops him. “I…can I jus’ be alone, for a bit? I’m alright, promise. Jus’ need some time…” The doc looks doubtful, but Daryl can’t bear it. “Please…”

Reluctantly, Joel nods. “Okay, but find Rick, soon as you feel you can. Don’t be alone too long.”

Daryl nods. He’d agree to anything, just to get some peace. He turns and sets off for Ezekiel’s place. But when he climbs down into the basement he finds Shiva’s cage empty.

“She ain’t here,” a voice says. Daryl jumps, and wheels around. It’s only Jerry, coming through a door with a broom and a bucket. “The King has taken her for a stroll.”

Daryl nods, and without a word, retraces his steps hurriedly. He can feel his throat closing up again, and his heart is racing. He needs air. Outside, he leans against the wall, breathing hard.

“Daryl?”

Why can’t he get any peace today? Daryl looks up and sees Morgan coming down the path next to the building. He stops, frowning. “Daryl, you okay?”

Daryl nods, straightening up. But Morgan isn’t so easily dissuaded. “Come have lunch with me,” he says. “You look like you need some energy. Rick’s just finishing off with a messenger from Alexandria.”

Daryl looks at him sharply. Morgan adds hastily. “Nothing bad, just tactical stuff, and checking on you and Rick.” Daryl feels that stab of guilt again. He’s wasting time here. Morgan’s eyes narrow, but he continues as if Daryl isn’t being a mute bundle of misery. “Rick said he’d come to the mess hall soon as he’s done. Let’s go save him a space, and some food.”

Morgan won’t take no for an answer, that’s obvious. And maybe he’s right. Daryl does feel exhausted from the morning’s events, and he’s not had anything to eat since the night before. His mouth is also very dry again. He needs to drink some water urgently.

He nods. “Alright.” They make their way to the mess hall. Morgan doesn’t speak, and Daryl is grateful. Morgan gets him, usually. He’s good people.

But the mess hall is loud and busy. Daryl stops in the doorway, unable to go on. Morgan, who is a few steps ahead, turns when he realizes Daryl is no longer with him. “Daryl? What is it?”

Daryl can’t speak, or move. There are too many people, and the din makes the blood rush in his ears. He closes his eyes, wants to shut some of it out – and suddenly, he’s at the Sanctuary. He can hear screaming, and smells the stench of cooking flesh stuck to an iron. His stomach clenches, and he shudders.

Then, a loud crash. Daryl’s eyes fly open. He spins around, trying to locate the source of the noise.

“Someone just dropped a tray,” Morgan says. “Daryl, it’s okay…”

But Daryl can barely hear him over the pounding of his heart. He whimpers, then turns on his heel and runs.

*

Rick sees Morgan hurrying towards him from the mess hall. He’s spent much longer with the messenger than anticipated, grilling the man for all the info he can, and writing a lengthy, detailed reply with instructions and updates on him and Daryl. He’s famished, and hoping that Daryl will be back from his outing with Joel, and waiting for him at lunch.

But when he catches sight of Morgan’s expression, all thoughts of food evaporate. “Morgan, what happened?”

“Did you see Daryl?” Morgan asks, but before Rick can reply he shakes his head. “No, of course not. Or you wouldn’t be here…”

Rick’s stomach sinks. “Morgan, what happened?” he asks again.

“Daryl, he…well, I’m not sure. He…he’s had some kind of breakdown. A tray fell, in the mess hall, and he turned tail and ran. I met him outside Shiva’s basement, and he looked pretty bad. I thought lunch would perk him up.”

Rick is already turning towards the hospital. “Damn,” he mutters, and sets off.

“Do you think he’s gone outside the walls?” Morgan asks, barely keeping up with Rick.

Rick considers, but then shakes his head. “He wouldn’t, not now. He knows it stresses me out, and even if he’s scared… And he’s not very strong right now, he’s been resting when he can. He prefers the quiet in our room.” He stops when they get to the hospital. “Listen, Morgan. I better go check on my own. If he’s not there I’ll find you, okay? But I’ll need some time, so go back and have lunch. I’ll find you there, or in your room later.”

Morgan nods. “Whatever you think is best.” He stays at the bottom of the stairs, watching.

Rick takes two steps at a time, praying that his hunch is correct. He’s outside their door within minutes, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. The last thing he wants is to startle Daryl. He pushes the door open gently. The room is empty, the bed untouched.

“No,” he whispers. “Nonononono.”

Then he hears it, a sound coming from the bathroom. Rick wheels around. Someone is retching in there, and it can only be Daryl. They’re alone on this floor now, since Aaron and Eric went back to Alexandria.

Rick pulls open the door to the bathroom. Daryl is on his knees in an open cubicle. He’s just pushing himself back to his feet.

“Daryl, buddy, what’s going on?” Rick takes a couple of steps towards his lover, but then stops. Will Daryl let him help?

The hunter turns around. His eyes are watering and bloodshot, and he wipes them, then his mouth, on the sleeve of his denim jacket. “The smell, I couldn’t stand it…” He gags again, shudders, then sways precariously.

That decides it. Rick covers the remaining distance and holds out his hands. “C’mere, buddy,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Daryl comes to him on shaky legs, and lets himself be led back to their room. He’s white as a sheet, and his eyes are glazed. Rick sits him down on the bed, then helps him take off jacket and shoes. He gets Daryl back to his feet and unbuttons his pants. Daryl gives a shudder.

“Buddy, you gonna be sick again?” Rick asks, worried. “Or is it your gut?”

Daryl shakes his head. “’s not that. Jus’…jus’ felt sick. Was nuthin’ comin’ up, tho…”

Rick sighs. “Well, I don’t remember you having breakfast today? And lunch didn’t happen?”

Daryl shakes his head. Rick sighs again, and helps Daryl sit back down. He pulls the hunter’s pants off, then guides him to lie down and draws up the blankets. Daryl curls up on his side and closes his eyes.

Rick crouches next to the bed. “Buddy, what happened?”

But Daryl doesn’t answer. Rick sighs deeply again, then sits down on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed. They’re quiet for a long time.

When Daryl finally speaks, it’s not at all what Rick expected. “Ya gotta go firs’,” he whispers.

Rick’s heart is suddenly beating fast. He thinks he knows what Daryl means, but he asks anyway, to gain some time. “What?”

“Ya gotta talk. Tell me what’s going on,” Daryl says quietly. “Ya promised.”

Daryl is right, Rick did promise. But now the roles are reversed, he’s the one feeling sick and shaky. His windpipe closes up and he chokes on the next breath.

Then Daryl’s fingers are on his neck, warm and soothing. “Breathe,” he whispers. “Breathe…”

So Rick closes his eyes and will himself to remember the breathing exercise Joel taught them. Finally, his heart slows down, and he unclenches his fists which he hadn’t even realized had been lying tightly balled in his lap.

“Okay,” he croaks when he can speak again. “Okay, I’ll talk.”

Daryl says nothing, but he keeps his hand where it is on Rick’s neck, drawing circles with his thumb.

Rick takes a few, deeper breaths. “It’s killing me, man,” he says, choking back tears. “It’s killing me to see you like this. I feel…” He breaks off, and swallows hard. “So powerless. All of you, under my care, and y’all keep dying on me, or disappearing. Every time we lose someone, a piece of me dies, too. I’m getting weaker and weaker, and I’m not enough, to keep y’all alive. To keep _you_ safe, Daryl.”

He can’t go on. Tears are coursing down his face. Daryl’s fingers are still again on his neck.

After a long moment Daryl says, “Yer more’n enough, Rick. Yer always enough, for me.”

At that, Rick turns around. Daryl’s eyes are full of tears, too. Something is said between them in that gaze that they haven’t been able to say in a long time. Then Daryl moves back on the bed to make room, and at the same moment Rick gets to his feet. He steps out of his boots and lies down next to Daryl.

Daryl crowds in and Rick pulls him into his arms. They hold each other while the tears keep coming. Eventually Daryl stirs. “I can’t do this, Rick,” he whispers.

“What’s that, buddy?”

“Can’t go through it all again.” There’s a tremor in Daryl’s voice.

Rick pulls back until he can see Daryl’s face. “Is that what Joel did today? Take you back to when Denise got shot?”

Daryl nods, then shudders. He’s not meeting Rick’s eyes. “It all came back. The bullets, her…her face…my arrow…her…her last words. Eugene…” Daryl swallows convulsively and Rick his half poised to jump up and find something for Daryl to be sick in. But Daryl just takes a deep breath and continues. “And…in the mess hall, with Morgan… I smelled it, how Negan burned off that guy’s face…” He’s shaking now, but he seems unable to stop. “It was like…like bein’ there again… I can’t…”

He buries his face against Rick’s neck, and Rick can feel him shaking. Thoughts are racing through Rick’s head. Maybe they’ve been doing this all wrong. “Daryl, you _are_ doing it. Right here, right now. You got me to talk, when nothing else could. You helped me. And now I’ll help you. We can do this, together, don’t you see?”

Daryl looks up at Rick, his face tear streaked, but he’s no longer crying. “Ya mean…”

“I mean,” Rick says, reaching up and stroking Daryl’s face. “That you were right all along. No secrets, no solo tours. We won’t hide from each other any longer.”

*

They’re in the basement of the hospital, all three of them, sitting on the floor of a small, bare room. The door is open, and a naked lightbulb swings from the ceiling. Daryl is gripping Rick’s hand hard, but he’s not panicking.

They spent two days recovering after Daryl’s aborted attempt on the rail tracks. Joel has spent some time devising this next session with more safety mechanisms.

“Did you both do your muscle relaxation?” he now asks.

Rick nods. “Just before we came down.”

“Good.” Joel looks serious, but when his eyes meet Daryl’s he smiles. “Let’s start with the breathing.”

The doc calmly counts them through the breaths a few times. Daryl tries to focus only on Joel’s voice. Even with all of Rick’s help and support he dreads what’s coming next.

Sometimes, Rick reads his mind. There’s no other explanation for it. As they finish the breathing exercise Rick squeezes Daryl’s hand more tightly. Daryl looks at him. He can’t smile, or say anything, but the love in Rick’s eyes soothes him. “You can do this,” Rick murmurs. “You’re strong.”

They haven’t been apart from each other for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom or take a shower since Rick found Daryl hunched over the toilet. They’ve talked, haphazardly and maybe not always effectively, but about things neither of them could bring himself to say before. For Rick, this was essentially what he needed, and Daryl needed to hear his lover speak again, to know he’d be okay.

And they have touched. They’ve spent a great deal of time in their room, alone, finding the privacy helpful in being open with each other again. They haven’t fucked, but there has been kissing, and holding each other, rediscovering the other’s body.

For a short time, they’ve found a reprieve. They don’t have to be grown men, strong and in control. They’ve been allowed the time to tend their wounded souls.

“Daryl, are you ready?” Joel asks.

They’ve talked about what they’re going to do, in a long, tiring session the day before. Daryl knows what’s coming, and has accepted it as his best chance. Talking, for him, will never be enough. The words come too hard, and are never all there is, churning in his soul.

Until the flashback at the rail tracks Daryl didn’t realize he’d lost a part of his memories. He’s forgotten a lot about being Negan’s prisoner, and about the days that led up to his being taken from his family.

Now the confused, vague images in his head need to be rearranged, and to do this, he’ll have to go through this painful process.

Daryl nods that he’s ready, and Joel gets up. As agreed, he gives a running commentary, so Daryl has his voice to focus on. “I’m closing the door, and then I’ll turn off the light. But first…,” he clicks on the flashlight he’s holding. “If you need to stop, Daryl, just say _Ligh_ t, and this will come on straight away.” He shuts the door and turns off the ceiling light. Then he joins them again on the floor. “I’ll sit right here, in front of you and Rick.”

“Alright,” Daryl says feebly. He clings to Rick’s hand, and Joel’s voice. He knows he’s safe here, that the door isn’t locked, that there won’t be any music blaring. That Rick is right here, and will get him out again.

Rick is his anchor. He will continue holding Daryl’s hand even when Joel stops talking. Daryl will be alright as long as he has Rick, and he almost believes it. He looks at his lover’s face, ghostly pale in the beam of the flashlight.

“Remember what ya said, in the barn, Rick? That we’re the walking dead?” He swallows, his voice thick with the memory. “I was real angry, but I get it now.”

Rick shakes his head. “I was wrong, Daryl. We can’t live like we’re dead already.”

“Maybe,” Daryl concedes. “But I get it, ya know? How ya felt, that moment.” Tears are pricking the corners of his eyes. “I don’t like that feelin’.”

Rick takes a breath as if to speak, but Daryl shakes his head. “No, Rick. It’s okay. The feeling’s going now.” He nods at Joel. “Let’s do this.”

The flashlight clicks off, and Joel’s voice comes to him in the darkness. “Close your eyes, Daryl.”

Daryl does so, even though he can’t see anything anyway. Joel explained that being able to open his eyes when he has to come out will help him come back faster.

“You’re in the cell at the Sanctuary.” Joel’s voice is very calm. “You’re alone now, but you won’t be for long…”

On some level, Daryl is sitting on the cool basement floor at the Kingdom, clutching Rick’s hand and listening to the doc. On another level, he’s back in Negan’s cell, and his own personal Hell.

He can smell the sour, sweaty stench of his own body, unwashed and sick. He can smell his vomit on the floor. He can hear Dwight and Fat Joe talking outside his cell. He can hear _Easy Street_. He can feel the kicks, the punches, as they lay into him in the yard. Then he can smell the stench of melting flesh again. He gags, and shudders.

Someone is saying his name, but he’s too far in now.

And then he sees it. First the Polaroid, of Glenn’s bashed-in head, then the clearing. His family, sitting in a circle. A circle of ghosts. He feels the pain in his shoulder from the bullet wound.

He hears Negan’s voice, his laughter. He hears the sobs and the screaming. And he hears the barbed bat bashing into bone.

He hears Negan torment Rick, trying to break him. He shudders again. His insides are hurting, and he tries to curl up, curl away. But Rick won’t let go, his hand holds him in place.

“No, Daryl.” Rick’s voice floats somewhere far away. “No. Listen to me.”

And Daryl does. He holds still, his breath is coming hard and fast. But he can listen.

“Breathe slowly, Daryl,” Rick says, and starts counting. They go through one breath, and another one, and another one.

“He…,” Daryl croaks as soon as he can. “He tried to break us.”

The flashlight clicks on, then there’s a rustling as Joel gets up. He turns the ceiling light back on, and Daryl blinks in the sudden brightness. His eyes seek out Rick’s, which are full of tears.

“He tried to break us,” Daryl says again. “To destroy ya, Rick.”

Rick wipes away the tears, then takes Daryl’s other hand. “He didn’t succeed, Daryl. And he never will.”

*

They’re in bed early that evening, and Daryl curls up in Rick’s arms the moment they lie down. For a while, they’re silent, but Rick eventually speaks. “Do you remember everything now?”

Daryl considers. “Almost everything, I think.”

“Can you…do you think talking about it will help?” Rick asks quietly. “Eventually, I mean.”

“Think so, yeah. Jus’…jus’ not all at once, maybe.”

“Of course not, buddy,” Rick agrees. “Only if, and as much as, you think will help.”

Daryl pushes himself up and leans on his arm. He gives Rick a small half-smile. “We done it, Rick,” he says. “We really done it.”

“Yeah.” Rick returns the smile and reaches up to stroke Daryl’s face. “And we’ll keep doing it.”

“Together,” Daryl says. Then he leans down into a long kiss.

The Kingdom has worked its magic, and the future is no longer so dark.


End file.
